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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611890">What Friends Are For</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/intricate_glass_box/pseuds/intricate_glass_box'>intricate_glass_box</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>markiplier - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>College, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Reader-Insert, Sickfic, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:35:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/intricate_glass_box/pseuds/intricate_glass_box</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your college roommates, Damien and Mark, come down with something. You end up taking care of them until they feel better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Friends Are For</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first sickfic — I ended up enjoying writing it way more than I ever expected, although I’m not sure if that made for a good fic. It <i>does</i> mean it got downright <i>syrupy</i> b/c I was feeling <i>soft</i> for the boys. …also, the Actor is a big needy crybaby in this, but I’m also a big needy crybaby when sick so I claim that gives me the right </p><p>I called it a flu but really they’ve got “disease that gives them exactly the symptoms I wanted them to have for exactly the duration I wanted them to have them.” no medical science in this household don’t @ me. also FUCK historical accuracy actually. it takes place in like 1890~1900 to sync up with a 1920s WKM, but Mark said time is canonically fake, so I can do what I want</p><p>if you’re only familiar w/ Celsius: normal human body temperature is stated to be 98.6° Fahrenheit, although that’s also like. wrong. anything below 100° isn’t really a problem; if you hit 103° you should go to the hospital.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Since you were juniors this year, you and your two closest friends Damien and Mark had been able to get into the nicer housing available through your college. The three of you had a private connected space with two bedrooms (a double and a single, each of reasonable size), a relatively nice bathroom, and a common room you used for studying as well as socialization. You also had access to a kitchen shared among a couple such units. It had been quite nice for the few months you’d lived there. </p><p>But now, it was flu season, and Damien had caught something. He had woken up feeling tired and generally out of sorts and told you he was going to stay home from class and rest, which was out of character enough that you knew he must be feeling quite bad. You’d taken care to pay attention and take a good set of notes so you could catch him up on what he missed, because you were a good friend like that.</p><p>You peered into his bedroom. (He shared the double with Mark, but Mark wouldn’t be back until after his evening rehearsal.) “Hey Damien, how are you doing?” you asked gently. </p><p>The room was dark and Damien was still laying down, but he was awake. “Honestly, I feel worse,” he mumbled.</p><p>“You don’t look so great,” you commented. As your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you noticed he looked pale and a little sweaty.</p><p>“…Thanks.” </p><p>“Well, you’re healthy enough to be sarcastic, at least,” you teased, crossing over to his bed. You were worried he had a fever and pressed a hand to his forehead. Sure enough, he was running hot. “…I wonder if you caught the flu. You should go to the campus doctor.” </p><p>“I’ll call them… I don’t want to go when I might be contagious.” </p><p>“Let me. Stay here and rest.” The phone was in the kitchen - one per house. </p><p>Damien gave you a weak but warm smile. “Thanks, Y/N.” </p><p>—</p><p>The campus clinic agreed it could be a flu, and that it might be better he stay at home to avoid spreading it. They gave the usual advisories: Rest, fluids, more rest, and to call in again if he got worse. They offered a care package of sorts, which you stopped to pick up when you got dinner. You were glad to find it had a thermometer inside (because somehow the three of you didn’t own one) as well as some cold medicine. </p><p>When you returned, you ran into Mark in the common room, eating his own dinner. “Hello, Y/N,” he greeted you. “Damien’s asleep,” he added, sounding a bit surprised, and you remembered he was out of the loop, as he had left the house before you that morning.</p><p>“Hey! Yeah… it seems Damien caught the flu.” You sat down beside him. </p><p>“…Well, that’s not good.” He didn’t sound happy about it, and as he was Damien’s roommate, you could guess why. </p><p>“Not really, no. At least the campus clinic gave me some medicine and the like. We’ve got a thermometer now.” </p><p>“But none of that will prevent me from catching it from him,” Mark said, indicating you’d been right. </p><p>“I mean, if you want to sleep out here, be my guest,” you replied, stealing a piece of his food. (He gave you an irritated look but didn’t stop you.) </p><p>“It wouldn’t help much. We’re in here together all the time.” </p><p>He was right; you also stood a pretty high chance of catching it, but you weren’t unduly concerned simply because it wouldn’t help to be. That, and you’d rather help Damien out than leave him on his own to suffer. </p><p>— </p><p>After a couple of hours, Damien shuffled down the stairs, joining you and Mark in the living room. </p><p>“Hey Dames, how are you feeling? I stopped by the clinic; they gave me some cold medicine to give to you. Oh, and we have a thermometer now,” you reported.</p><p>“Thanks, Y/N, I appreciate that. I still don’t feel good at all; I’m going right back to bed,” he replied, sounding pretty miserable. </p><p>“No dinner?”</p><p>Damien made a face. “No dinner.” </p><p>“Nauseous?” </p><p>He nodded. </p><p>“Well, make sure you’re drinking. Just sips,” you advised with your limited medical knowledge. You didn’t want to be overbearing but you also wanted to make sure he was okay.</p><p>“I am, when I’m awake at least,” he assured you. </p><p>You nodded, and Damien continued on, evidently having come down for the bathroom.</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning, you again saw Mark first, while you were making breakfast. “Good morning!” </p><p>“Morning,” he mumbled, evidently still sleepy as he got milk from the fridge. </p><p>“How are you?” </p><p>“Tired.” </p><p>This wasn’t unusual. You weren't a morning person, either, but Mark was particularly bad. You let him eat his cereal in silence while you finished making your eggs and ate beside him. </p><p>Then, Damien appeared. “Morning,” he said, weakly. </p><p>“Morning,” you both replied. </p><p>“Feeling any better?” Mark asked. </p><p>He shook his head, then seemed to regret it, wincing and putting a hand to his temple. “No. Head hurts, nauseous… it's worse this morning. But I need to eat something.” </p><p>“Take some of that medicine, too; it’ll probably help. But you should take your temperature before you eat,” you suggested.</p><p>He looked at you, then, and he just looked so exhausted, despite the fact that he’d been resting for the better part of the last 24 hours. </p><p>“…I can bring it all to your room, if you want to go lay back down,” you offered. It was Friday, and your only class wasn’t until early afternoon. </p><p>Damien smiled, looking truly relieved. “You’re the best, you know that, Y/N?”</p><p>“Don’t you forget it.” But, really, you didn’t mind. It was hard to do anything when you felt as shitty as he seemed to be feeling. “What do you want to eat?” </p><p>His smile disappeared. “Nothing. Just… something bland, okay?” </p><p>“Alright. Go lay back down. Drink more water.”</p><p>He nodded, more carefully this time, and wandered out of the kitchen. </p><p>“He really doesn’t look so good, does he, Y/N?” Mark commented once Damien was out of earshot.</p><p>“Nnnnnope. I have a feeling we’re in for a bad weekend,” you murmured as you dug up a can of broth-based soup and got the bread to make some toast. </p><p>—</p><p>Ten minutes later, you had a bowl of soup and several slices of toast on a tray, along with some water, and the medicine. You couldn’t knock since your hands were full, so you just walked in. “Damien, I made you some soup. Let me take your temperature first.” </p><p>He’d already crawled back into bed, curled up facing the wall, but he turned back over and sat up a bit when he heard your voice. </p><p>“Thank you, Y/N,” he murmured again. He really didn’t look good — still pale, with something unfocused in his eyes. You picked up the thermometer, intending to hand it to him, but he opened his mouth so you just slipped it in. </p><p>“Hold that under your tongue, now.” You got a noise that sounded a little like it was intended to communicate that he knew how thermometers worked, but he couldn’t speak with the device in his mouth. “What was that?” you teased. He made an annoyed noise. After a minute, you removed the thermometer, regarding the result. “Yeah, you’re down with something… You’re sitting pretty at 101°. Please take some medicine, okay? Try not to use too many blankets; that’ll keep your temp too high.” </p><p>Damien nodded. “I’m not surprised. I really feel like shit.” He laughed a bit. </p><p>“I’m sorry, my friend. At least it’s Friday — I bet with the weekend to rest up, you’ll be better by Monday.” </p><p>“One can hope.” He sighed. </p><p>You handed him the tray of food and medicine, which he accepted. “Drink up. Eat up. Rest up. Want me to come check on you before I go to class?” </p><p>Surprisingly, you thought you saw him blush a bit. “…Yes, I’d appreciate that.” </p><p>But for now, you left him to eat. Back downstairs, you caught Mark on his way out and waved goodbye to him, then turned your attention to your academic work. </p><p>—</p><p>True to your word, a few hours later, you went back up to Mark and Damien’s room before gathering your things to head to campus and knocked softly. The tray was on his desk; he’d nearly finished the soup and gotten through half the toast, but he was curled up facing the wall again, and even from the doorway you could tell he was uncomfortable. He turned to face you upon hearing your knock. He looked miserable. </p><p>“No better?” you said softly. </p><p>“Worse. I’m trying not to— to throw up,” he told you with a grimace. </p><p>You made a sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the tray down to the kitchen. Can I take your temperature again first?” If he was still feeling progressively worse, he might need to go to a doctor after all, you thought. </p><p>Damien made a sound that was probably agreement, so you got the thermometer again and put it in his mouth. You were unable to resist feeling his forehead, too, for more immediate feedback. He, of course, felt hot. You brushed back the slightly sweaty hair that had fallen forward and were surprised when he relaxed slightly at the touch. Damien evidently appreciated the action, so you kept petting him until the reading was done. </p><p>“Still at 101°. Did you already take the medicine?” </p><p>“Yeah,” he told you.</p><p>That struck you as a bad sign, but you didn’t know, and also had to go to class. “Hmmm. Please keep an eye on it; I’m worried about you.” </p><p>“I will, Y/N. I’ll be fine,” Damien promised. </p><p>“Well, if you don’t mind me doting on you a little more, let me get you a bin in case you <i>are</i> sick, and a cold washcloth for your forehead.” </p><p>Taking care of yourself when you were sick was hard, something you’d realized since moving to college. There was something about being sick that made you want help and maybe a little extra affection, and judging by Damien’s genuine appreciation of your help so far, you figured he must be the same, so you weren’t surprised when he didn’t object, instead nodding and telling you, “Thank you, Y/N, I’d appreciate that.” </p><p>So you did — first, you quickly ran the tray down to the kitchen, then you dug up a small garbage pail in case Damien threw up and soaked a washcloth in cold water to put on his forehead. </p><p>“Here you go,” you said, announcing your return. “I’ll put this on the floor here. And, here…” You folded the cloth and laid it over his head.</p><p>“Thank you again, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d be doing without you.” He chuckled. </p><p>“Hopefully the same thing — resting.” </p><p>“I will, I will. Can’t do much else feeling like this. Have a good class, Y/N,” he told you.</p><p>“Thanks, Damien. I’ll stop by when I get home.”</p>
<hr/><p>Class was about on par for those taking place on Friday afternoon: Long, tedious, and generally unwelcome. And this was one you did not share with Damien, so you had no extra motivation to pay attention or take good notes. But it eventually ended, and you fled back to the house. </p><p>Normally Friday nights were quite lively in your small apartment — the three of you often played games, frequently also drinking — but with Damien sick it would probably be a quiet night. You’d thought about asking Mark to do something, but it was Damien you saw in the living room, curled up in the worn armchair and listening to the radio.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” you greeted, sloughing off your bookbag by the coffee table.</p><p>“Hey,” he replied. “Before you ask, no better, but I thought a change of scenery and some more light might help. And Mark’s sick, now.”</p><p>“What?” That wasn’t good.</p><p>Damien hummed confirmation. “He was laying down last I knew.” </p><p>“Okay… I’m gonna check on him. Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll join you? Sounds like it’ll be a quiet night tonight so I might try and get some homework done. Or, if you’re feeling up to it I can talk you through some of the class work from yesterday.”</p><p>Damien groaned. “Maybe let’s not go that far. But I’d welcome your company.”</p><p>“Alright, be right back,” you said, heading up to see how Mark was doing. It seems you might have two wards this weekend. But again, you knew how much it sucked to be sick, especially sick alone.</p><p>Mark was in bed, laying listlessly propped up on pillows. He looked sick, with a pouty and distressed expression on his face. When he saw you he called your name, a slight whine to his voice.</p><p>“Well you look awful,” you teased.</p><p>“I started feeling really sick in class — bad enough that the professor could tell, and sent me home early,” he explained. In a mumble he added, “It was embarrassing.” </p><p>“Oh no. I’m sorry, Mark. Fever?” You walked over, feeling his forehead even though it wasn’t scientific.</p><p>“Slight fever,” he said.</p><p>“Damn, what am I gonna do with you boys?” Mark just looked at you, morose. He hadn’t been seriously sick around you before, but you weren’t surprised he was more of a whiner than Damien. You didn’t hold it against him. “Don’t worry — I’m still standing.” <i>For now,</i> you didn’t add. It was possible you’d be the next to go down and then you’d all just suffer together. But until then… “I can take care of you.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Mark mumbled. “I hate being sick.”</p><p>“Doesn’t everyone?” </p><p>That got him to smile at least a bit. “I suppose so.” </p><p>“Well, I was gonna sit with Damien and do some homework. Do you want to join us? You can lay on the couch.” </p><p>Mark pondered for a moment before agreeing, gingerly getting down from his bed and gathering a pillow and bedsheet. The two of you returned to Damien, and Mark laid down on the couch. You sat in front of it so that you could lean back on it while using the coffee table to write on and got to work. </p><p>—</p><p>After a couple of hours, you’d decided fuck homework and also you were hungry. After Damien and Mark expressed they’d be willing to try eating something, you dug through the cupboards for ingredients to make chicken and rice and vegetables, which you purposefully left bland. You carried the bowls back to the common room and the three of you ate together. </p><p>Unfortunately, it was apparently still too much, because as evening set in, Mark started fidgeting, occasionally making distressed noises. You ignored it for a bit, but he didn’t calm down after a minute or two so you asked, “Are you okay?” </p><p>“No,” he whined immediately. “Gonna be sick.” </p><p>You stood up quickly, given that your former position was decidedly <i>in range</i> should that happen. “You should go to the bathroom.” </p><p>“I don’t wanna move, Y/N; it’ll make it worse,” he whined, kicking and squirming.</p><p>“What’ll make you feel better is being somewhere where it’s okay if you’re sick, and getting a cold cloth on your head. Come on; I’ll come with you,” you said. You were <i>not</i> cleaning it up if he threw up out here due to his own stubbornness, you didn’t <i>care…</i></p><p>But luckily, he stood up, nodding quickly with a hand over his mouth. You glanced at Damien, finding only a concerned look on his face. You and Mark hurried to the bathroom and Mark kneeled down by the toilet, whimpering. </p><p>Not knowing how else to help, you soaked another washcloth in cool water, kneeling beside your miserable friend and holding it to his forehead, inadvertently soaking his hair. </p><p>“It’ll be okay,” you soothed. He took the washcloth then reached for you, grabbing one of your hands and holding it tightly. Clearly he needed comfort. Again, you weren’t surprised he was so needy, given how he acted on a normal day. </p><p>After a few minutes quiet except his sad noises, he said, “…I think I’m okay now.” </p><p>“That’s good,” you praised, rubbing his hand with your thumb. </p><p>“Thank you,” Mark mumbled. “I’m sorry I’m so…”</p><p>“It’s okay,” you told him honestly. “I get it. I’m the same way.”</p><p>Mark looked like he doubted you were saying that for any reason other than to make him feel better, but nodded anyway before dropping your hand and standing up shakily. “If you want to head back out, you can. I’m going to get ready for bed then go to sleep. Hopefully when I wake  up, this’ll be over.” </p><p>That’s not how it had worked for Damien, but you supposed it was possible that Mark would recover faster. “Alright, Mark. I’ll see you in the morning, then; sleep well.” </p><p>“You as well, Y/N,” he told you as you left him to his privacy. </p><p>You returned to Damien, who looked positively green. “Oh, no, Dames, not you too?” </p><p>“I’ll be fine,” he said stiffly. </p><p>“Mark said he’s going to go to bed. Maybe you should, too?” </p><p>“I’ve been sleeping all day,” he sighed with frustration.</p><p>“That’s good, it’s what your body needs. Hopefully when the two of you wake up you’ll be recovered.”</p><p>“For your sake, as well, eh?” Damien managed a teasing smile. </p><p>“Maybe so. Do you want me to walk with you to your room?” </p><p>“Please,” Damien accepted. “…and, when Mark is out of the bathroom, would you mind bringing me another one of those cold washcloths?” </p><p>“Of course. I’ll get you a fresh glass of water, too.”</p><p>You helped Damien up to his room, and he settled into bed. “I’ve got to admit… I am, somehow, tired again.”</p><p>“Being sick’ll do that. Hey, have you checked your temperature lately?”</p><p>He groaned. “No.” </p><p>“Where’s the thermometer?” </p><p>“Downstairs.” </p><p>“It’s alright; I’ll bring that when I bring your water. Be right back.” </p><p>Mark was still in the bathroom when you hit the main floor, so you continued down to the kitchen, collecting the water first. You went ahead and got two glasses. Finding the bathroom free, you made up the cold compresses, and picked up the thermometer from the living room. You noticed the bottle of medicine was there, as well, and brought that along too — even if their fevers had broken, which it didn’t seem like they had, the cold syrup would help them sleep. </p><p>You returned to the boys. “I come bearing remedies. Take your temperatures before you drink the water,” you instructed. Mark was still standing, so he went first. Sure enough, both still had fevers, but no higher even though they were due for another dose of medicine. With your collective nonexistent medical knowledge, you decided that was a fairly good sign, but they took the cough syrup anyway, hoping to be knocked out until morning. </p><p>“Goodnight, Damien; Goodnight, Mark,” you told them once they’d both laid down.</p><p>“Goodnight, Y/N; thanks for everything today,” Damien replied. </p><p>“Likewise — really, thank you.” Mark reiterated. “And goodnight.” </p><p>“You’re welcome. Get some sleep,” you said, leaving them to it. </p><p>It was still fairly early in the evening, so with nothing entertaining to do, you went back to homework. </p><p>—</p><p>It was now 1 AM. You’d lost track of time, but at least it had been on something productive. A huge yawn confirmed your suspicions that you’d reached tonight’s limit, so you abandoned the homework on the table, quickly got ready for bed, and headed upstairs. </p><p>Until something gave you pause on the stairs. You heard quiet, unhappy voices from your friends’ room, and their light was back on, despite the fact that you’d figured they were long unconscious by now. Your concern overrode your tiredness and you crept over to their room instead of your own, rapping on the mostly-closed door. </p><p>“Y/N?” came a very stressed-sounding Mark. </p><p>“Yeah..?” you said, pushing open the door. Damien was sitting up with the bucket you’d given him in his lap, and you could smell vomit. “Oh.” </p><p>Mark was visibly distressed, squirming and kicking like earlier. “Help,” he whimpered. “Gonna be sick.” </p><p>You were at a bit of a loss. 1 AM and two boys about to throw up wasn’t something you’d dealt with before. You had new respect for your mother. “Damien, can you… hand me that?” </p><p>Damien gave you a look like he wasn’t so sure parting with the bucket was a good idea, but nodded, because Mark really was acting seconds from vomiting — and, obviously, it wasn’t a perfect idea to have them sharing a bucket, but what the fuck else were you supposed to do? But as soon as you walked towards Damien, Mark retched, sitting up with a desperate cry before gagging again, this time throwing up onto his shirt and lap. He blinked at you through teary eyes, his expression begging you to do anything, before he was taken into another retch, body forcing him forward as it expelled his partially-digested dinner onto himself. </p><p>“Oh, Mark,” you cooed sympathetically, moving over to him instead despite the disgusting smell that had immediately tainted the room. You thought Damien ought better keep his bucket; Mark was already covered in sick and didn’t seem to be able to stop. The productive convulsions had him crying, and when they finally subsided, he dry-heaved a couple more times, keeping him from doing anything to help himself as the last of it dribbled down his chin. You rubbed his back until he seemed to be finished. </p><p>“I’m going to help you clean up; you’re going to have to work with me, okay? I know you feel awful, Mark, I’m so sorry.” You glanced over at Damien, who was pressing back against the wall with eyes closed, clearly trying to hold it together in light of recent developments. “You’re going to have to undress.” There was no way around it, and you thought you saw Mark blush but he nodded. You’d never seen anybody look so miserable; it broke your heart. “C’mon, then, arms up carefully now…” You helped him out of his shirt, pulling it forward to avoid spilling onto anything not already contaminated. With a sleeve, you wiped his face off, then offered him his cup. “Rinse your mouth out.”</p><p>While he swished, you stole the bucket after all, and directed him to spit into it. </p><p>You held the water up again. “Now take a sip. Just a sip.” </p><p>“Hurts,” he croaked out. </p><p>“It’ll help. A sip will help.” </p><p>He took a sip. “I need to shower,” Mark said, and his voice was still rough and hurt to use. Also, it sounded like he couldn’t stand the thought, but it was probably a good idea, so you didn’t want to dissuade him. </p><p>First, you had to get him up, somehow, and preferably without wrecking the floor. “Can you get up without making a mess?”<br/>
Mark thought for a second, then wriggled carefully backwards out of his pajama pants, leaving a pile of absolutely disgusting linens in the middle of the bed but mostly containing the mess. He carefully stepped down to the floor, refusing eye contact until he dug around in his things until he found a robe, which he slipped on. </p><p>“Just throw them out; I have spares,” Mark told you. He wiped at the tears on his face, still sniffling.</p><p>“…Okay. Can you get the spares out for me? I’ll make up the couch for you to sleep on,” you offered. Leaving him in the same room as Damien was probably unwise, after all, and it was possible his bed would need to be more thoroughly cleaned.</p><p>“I’d really appreciate that, thanks,” Mark replied as he gingerly knelt down to pull the linens out of a drawer, handing them to you before pulling out an extra set of clean nightclothes as well. He still seemed unsteady — whether physically or mentally, you weren’t sure and suspected both. </p><p>“I’ll walk down with you, then… getting clean will make you feel better,” you offered. Then, you looked over to Damien, calling his name softly. He was still visibly tense and uncomfortable, but opened his eyes when you addressed him. “I’ll come back in just a bit to finish cleaning up.” </p><p>He nodded, giving you both a sympathetic look despite his current state. You thought you better clear out the dirty things, first, for Damien’s sake, and quickly bundled them up, making sure you could securely carry the parcel in one hand so you could offer the other to Mark. “C’mon, then, Mark,” you said. He took your hand, and seemed to appreciate the gesture as he held it while walking quite closely to you, still tentative in his movements. At the living room, you gently released him. “I’ll get this set up for you while you shower.” </p><p>“Thank you…” Mark mumbled before walking the rest of the way to the bathroom and shutting the door softly. </p><p>You hurried to trash the linens, then washed your hands and ran back upstairs. “Hey Damien,” you said. “Let me take that bucket; I’ll get it cleaned out for you.” (You were just gonna go chuck its contents in the bushes — it was a Friday night on a college campus; it wouldn’t be the <i>least</i> courteously-placed vomit around.)</p><p>He looked less actively nauseous, but hadn’t settled back down in bed yet. “You don’t have to do that. If you give me another couple minutes, I can get it.” </p><p>“It’s not a problem, Damien,” you said, tucking the clean linens under your arm before moving forward to take it as well as Mark’s old water cup. </p><p>“But I’m an adult and I should be taking care of myself.” </p><p>You scoffed. “No adult gets by all on their own. Humans aren’t even meant to.” </p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” he said.</p><p>“Be right back,” you told him, stepping out. </p><p>—</p><p>On your way back in, you (washed your hands again then) left a fresh glass of water on the coffee table for Mark. You laid out a sheet on the couch, leaving another for Mark to cover up with, and fluffed out one of his pillows that you’d assured was clean.</p><p>You were bringing the bucket back to Damien — Mark would simply have to get himself to the bathroom, now that he was closer to it, if he needed to throw up again. </p><p>Re-entering the room, you commented, “It’s nice outside, at least.” </p><p>“Hmm…” Damien said. Then, “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault. Nor Mark’s. Being sick is awful and that’s all there is to it. Do you need anything before I head out? I’m going to wait until Mark’s settled then head to sleep.”</p><p>“Oh, god, you haven’t slept yet?” Damien said, surprised and concerned. </p><p>“No, but stop worrying! It’s not good for you. I’ll be asleep soon enough. Do you need anything?”</p><p>Damien made a displeased sound, but then let it go and shook his head. “No, I’m alright, thanks to you. Just get some sleep, Y/N; I really don’t want you to get sick, too.” </p><p>“Thanks, Damien. Goodnight.”</p><p>“Goodnight,” he called back as you left the room. You <i>were</i> extremely tired, but you’d meant what you said — being sick is awful, and you shouldn’t have to take care of yourself — so you went back downstairs and found that Mark was out of the shower, still getting comfortable laying down. The couch didn’t make a great bed — it was only barely long enough (this wouldn’t have worked for Damien, who was taller) and it was old and worn, but Mark looked comfortable enough. Although, when he saw you, he nearly sat back up.</p><p>“Y/N… I’m very sorry,” he immediately said, a blush rising on his cheeks. </p><p>“No, none of that; I just shut that down from Damien, you know.” </p><p>“But I—“</p><p>“—are sick, and need to rest, and you can get that more easily if you get a little help.”</p><p>He gave you a small but warm smile. “Well… then, thank you.” He was quiet for a second, glancing at the coffee table. “Should I take my temperature again before I sleep?” </p><p>…Hm. Maybe? But it was a moot point: “The thermometer is still upstairs.”</p><p>“Oh. I don’t want to make you make another trip, Y/N… but can you check, maybe just feel my forehead..?”</p><p>As previously stated, checking with a hand is not scientific at all. Especially not just after a shower. This wasn’t going to tell you anything. It wouldn’t hurt, though, and if it made him feel better… </p><p>You walked over. “Why? Do you feel worse?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, noncommittally. </p><p>You knelt beside him, gently pressing a hand to his forehead. Yep, this was exactly how you expected this to go. He felt hot and that’s all you could say. “Ah, hmmmmm, you’re exactly… 101.2°. No— NO! 101.2<i>7</i>,” you teased, withdrawing your hand.</p><p>He gave you a pout. “Hey.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” you said with a not-sorry smile. “But I can’t tell you any better than ‘yeah, you feel warm’ without a real thermometer, my friend. Do you want me to go get it after all? I want to make sure you’re okay.” </p><p>“…No, it’s just— I— I don’t know… I just don’t feel good.” His pout crumpled into something more genuinely sad.</p><p>It clicked, then, that he just didn’t want to be alone. This is all he wanted… “I know,” you soothed, playing with his hair with one hand and taking one of Mark’s in the other. He held it close to his chest, surprising you a bit.</p><p>“I still feel sick, and that was embarrassing, and everything hurts and I’m tired but I can’t even sleep in my own bed,” he complained. “And now I’m keeping you up even later,” he added in a mumble. </p><p>“…Do you want me to sleep down here with you?” </p><p>You got a somewhat-bashfully pleading look. </p><p>You had to admit it was pretty cute that he was so needy. Just exactly cute enough that you were willing to sleep on the floor for one (1) night. And no more. </p><p>“…Alright, fine, Mark. Let me go pull my blankets off my bed.” </p><p>You couldn’t believe you’d been talked into yet another round trip up and down the stairs, but you pulled away from him and ran up to your room. After making sure everything there was fine to be left alone overnight, you grabbed all your blankets and a pillow.</p><p>Back downstairs, you layered the blankets in front of the armchair. “I’ll sleep here, so that you can get up in the night if you need to.” </p><p>“Okay,” said Mark. His displeased tone indicated that he didn’t want to think about the prime reason he might need to get up in the night. </p><p>You shut out the lights in the apartment. It was past 2 AM, now. “Alright… sleep well, Mark; I’ll see you in the morning.” </p><p>“G’night, Y/N,” he replied, a little sleepy. “Thank you.” </p><p>“You’re welcome,” you mumbled, way more than a little sleepy as you nestled into the blanket pile you’d made. You were out in minutes.</p>
<hr/><p>It was late the next morning when you awoke. Mark was gone, though the couch still had his sheets on it. You stretched, a little stiff after sleeping on the floor, although the blankets had been enough of a cushion that you weren’t in pain. Someone had closed the curtains, so you walked over and opened them up, letting in the light again. </p><p>You figured you’d shower quickly, but folded the blankets and sheets first. You also wondered how your friends had fared through the night, so you stopped by Damien’s room with Mark’s folded sheets next. It, too, was empty, so you left the sheets on Mark’s desk and went to your own room, exchanging your blankets for clothes to wear that day, then hopping in the shower. </p><p>You’d seen the rest of the house, so you figured Mark and Damien must be in the kitchen. As such, after you emerged, that’s where you headed — you needed breakfast, anyway. But, you heard them approaching in the hallway as you walked that way. </p><p>“Oh, we need to be quiet in case Y/N is still sleeping,” Mark said. </p><p>“I still can’t believe you made them sleep on the floor!” Damien admonished in a hushed voice. </p><p>The pair came into view as Mark insisted, “They <i>offered</i>.”</p><p>“Good morning,” you greeted, amused. The truth was somewhere in the middle of what they’d said, of course, but you didn’t want to betray Mark’s trust, so you pretended you hadn’t heard anything. “How’d you sleep?” </p><p>“Quite well,” Mark replied. “Our fevers are down, too — Damien’s was back to normal; mine’s at 100.” </p><p>Damien nodded in agreement. “It took a while to settle and get to sleep, but once I did, I slept well too. What about you, Y/N?” </p><p>You nodded. “Ah, I’m glad the two of you seem to be on the mend. I slept alright. Clearly — I can’t believe how late I woke up. I’m just now headed to get breakfast.”</p><p>“Since we’re both feeling better today, we were going to try and catch up on some of the work we’d missed. If you aren’t busy after breakfast, would you mind talking me through the notes from class?” </p><p>“Yeah, sure! We can do the assignment together, too, if you’d like. I’ll rejoin you in a few.” </p><p>—</p><p>When you returned to the living room, Mark was laying back on the couch, reading something that may or may not have been academic, and Damien had knelt beside the table where your school books had been left the night before. </p><p>Together, you got a surprising amount of work done through ‘till early afternoon, when Mark started getting restless, soon complaining he was feeling worse again. </p><p>“My headache’s back and I just don’t feel good.” </p><p>“Rest a while; put the book down. Neither of you should push it today,” you advised. </p><p>Mark huffed, using the book to cover his eyes… somewhat dramatically, you thought. “But I’m so tired of just laying here feeling miserable.” </p><p>“Rest a bit, and when you’re feeling better, we could go for a walk. It seems to be warm enough outside,” Damien suggested. </p><p>That was a nice idea. Mark hmm’d in thoughtful tentative agreement. </p><p>Damien continued, “I suppose I should take a break, too. I think I’ll make a snack. Or, lunch — whatever it should be called this time of day.” </p><p>Mark pulled the book off his face to grimace in Damien’s direction. “…please don’t eat it in here.” </p><p><i>Oh</i>, so he was feeling <i>that</i> kind of not good. Poor thing, you thought. </p><p>“…Alright,” Damien said, looking sympathetic. “I’ll be back later, then. Y/N, would you like to join me?” </p><p>You weren’t surprised to see Mark looking at you, seemingly awaiting your answer, out of the corner of your eye. Judging by the way he acted last night, you guessed he wouldn’t want to be left alone, so to Damien you replied, “Nah, I plan to keep working for a bit. Save me something, though, if there’s extra of whatever you make.” </p><p>“Will do,” Damien said with a nod before walking off. </p><p>You turned back to your homework. The assignment you’d been completing with Damien wasn’t quite done, but you figured it would be best to wait for him to finish it off, so you pulled out the textbook for another class, intending to start reading when you heard Mark whine again.</p><p>When you didn’t respond, he tried again more pointedly, this time whining your name. </p><p>“…Yes?” </p><p>“I don’t feel good and I’m bored.” </p><p>“I know, but unless you want to keep feeling like that, you should rest.” </p><p>He pouted, then held his book out to you. “Read to me?” </p><p>Maybe you shouldn’t’ve been so giving; now he was demanding things… “You’re in the middle of the book, how am I supposed to know what’s going on?” </p><p>“I’ll give you the synopsis first. Please?” </p><p>“I knew you weren’t doing homework.” You grabbed the book; it was some kind of novel. It, admittedly, looked more interesting than the assigned readings for your class. “Alright, tell me about it.” </p><p>He launched into it, giving you the background overview then more detail as you met up temporally with where he wanted you to start reading. Something something family drama, something something main plot about getting a job in a socio-politically turbulent landscape, something something B-plot family sanctioned marriage conflicts with who the protagonist truly loves, that sort of thing. Sure, fine — nothing that you’d go out of your way to read, but that meant nothing you’d care about skipping to midway through and probably never finishing. “And so, this party could be the opportunity for networking that he <i>needs,</i> but Genevieve might be there, too.” </p><p>You interrupted, confirming you’d (metaphorically and literally) been brought to the same page. “Right, and he’d want to talk to her because she doesn’t know his mother is sending him to Sarah’s tea on Saturday.” </p><p>He gave you a pleased expression. “Right.” </p><p>“Okay. I’ll read to you.” You closed your textbook and opened his novel, leaning back next to him so that, if he wanted, he could look at the page. </p><p>You read for a couple of chapters when Mark started fidgeting again. </p><p>“Are you alright?” </p><p>He shook his head. “‘M sorry, gonna be sick,” he said, and you believed him, setting the book on the table and standing up. </p><p>“Come here, we’ll get you to the bathroom.” </p><p>He whined, looking up at you. Evidently he was averse to moving but you had no way of — and no reason to — clean the couch, so you grabbed his arm somewhat firmly and that was enough to get him to stand up. You guided him to the bathroom, murmuring encouragement as he got visibly more distressed over the span of a few seconds.</p><p>Unfortunately for him, when you reached the threshold of the bathroom he gagged once, covering his mouth with a hand before breaking out of your guiding grip and rushing forward. He got himself in front of the toilet just in time for the second wave, vomiting up his brunch. </p><p>You weren’t sure if he’d want you to leave for this, but… you walked over, kneeling and rubbing his back lightly. “There you go; you’ll feel better in a second. You’ll be okay,” you murmured as his body forced him through the motions once again. </p><p>After the last heave, he pulled back, eyes wet with tears and a thread of disgusting saliva still attached to his lip. “Oh, hold on,” you cooed, grabbing a washcloth and handing it to him. “Hold on, I’ll get your water, stay right there.” </p><p>You darted out to the living room and brought his glass back to him. While you were gone, he’d wiped his face off and flushed the toilet.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said, but seemed to regret it as he winced and put a hand to his throat, giving you a pained look. </p><p>“…Maybe take a sip, after you’ve rinsed your mouth out.” </p><p>Mark nodded and did so. He tried speaking again. “I should get some more sleep.” </p><p>“Probably a good idea, Mark. I’m sorry you’re still feeling so bad.” </p><p>“Me too,” he mumbled as he stood up then paused for a second to check his condition. “Don’t wait for me to go on your walk,” he added, staring at the floor.</p><p>“Come here,” you said, before pulling him into a hug. You didn’t care that he’d just been sick; he just looked so miserable. Mark clearly needed the hug as he pulled himself in tightly to you and held fast until you wiggled back a bit, figuring it would be better to get him back to bed. </p><p>He released you. “You’re too nice, Y/N. You’ll get sick, too.” </p><p>“Hey, Damien’s doing better. If I go down, we’ll make him take over. I’m gonna get you a clean water glass and take your temperature again.” </p><p>You parted ways, Mark heading up the stairs and you darting to the kitchen with the contaminated glass. You were just thinking that you were worried you’d run out of clean ones when you saw Damien doing the dishes. </p><p>“Oh! That’s where you’ve been.” </p><p>“I noticed they’d piled up while we’ve been sick; I figured it’s the least I can do after all you’ve done.” </p><p>“Can I add one more to your pile? Mark was sick again and needs a clean one.” </p><p>Damien frowned. “Oh, but he’d been feeling so much better this morning…” </p><p>“Yeah…” </p><p>“Well, yeah, just leave it on the side there and I’ll wash it up. Also, I left you some food in the fridge. You must be hungry; don’t think I don’t know you prioritized staying with Mark over eating.” </p><p>You smiled as you exchanged the cup for a clean one, filling it with fresh water. “Maybe. I’m glad to have you to keep me in line. I’ll come eat after I take this up to Mark; then we can go on that walk?” you asked. </p><p>“Ah, I’d like that! I hate to leave Mark, but it would be nice to get out of the house.” </p><p>“Then we’ve gotta finish that assignment,” you reminded, hearing Damien groan affectedly as you walked back out of the room. </p><p>—</p><p>Mark was already laying down in the darkened room when you returned to him. </p><p>“Here you go,” you said quietly. </p><p>“Thanks.” He took the glass from you, sitting up enough to take another careful sip. “I took my temperature; no change.” </p><p>“So it hasn’t gone back up, either?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“That’s good! Get some rest and I’m sure you’ll feel better soon, then.”</p><p>“Thanks,” he mumbled again, and you were loath to leave him but you <i>were</i> hungry and he <i>did</i> need sleep anyway. You settled for brushing back his hair before leaving him to rest. </p><p>—</p><p>Damien had finished the dishes and even gotten your food out for you. You were touched. “Aww… thank you.” </p><p>“It’s the least I can do, Y/N, really,” Damien said dismissively. He kept you company with casual conversation while you scarfed down the late lunch. </p><p>You washed up the dishes quickly once you’d finished, not wanting to let them build back up again so soon. “Alright, I’m ready whenever you are if you’d like to take that walk.” </p><p>“Better than returning to the homework,” Damien joked, standing up and heading to the door. </p><p>The promise in the air you’d noted the night before when you’d been outside oh so briefly had held, and the afternoon was delightful — warm, but in the way that fall warmth was, lacking whatever tang summer’s had. A breeze rustled the trees, some of which had begun to change color. </p><p>It was so easy to miss this. Even living on such a beautiful campus, sometimes the transitional periods — the leaves’ fire-colors before they turned brown and fell, the pristine snow fields before becoming footprinted by students, or the short-lived blooms of spring — could pass you by completely. You were usually too busy, be it rushing to class, a long study session ending when you looked up to find it was already dark, or otherwise being too wrapped up in the other parts of life to appreciate this half as much as it deserved.<br/>
You were already juniors, after all. There would be more seasons in different places, but there wouldn’t be more of <i>here.</i> You glanced at Damien and found him watching you. </p><p>“What are you thinking about?” he asked. </p><p>…Well, it was gonna sound stupid if you said it out loud. You told him anyway. “How little time I take to appreciate nature, apparently.” </p><p>He made a thoughtful noise, looking up at the trees you were passing under. “I try to pay attention. But I know what you mean. I spend far more time with my nose in a book than anything else; all of this is easy to miss.” </p><p>“Exactly.” Of course Damien would get it; he was following nearly the same plan of study you were. </p><p>The two of you walked quietly for a while, simply bothering to appreciate nature. You were moving along the path from your dorm in a sort of winding route, vaguely toward the academic buildings. </p><p>As you got closer, you saw groups of students enjoying the weather — reading in the grass, chatting, playing frisbee, and the like. </p><p>Damien gently veered away, down a path away from the activity. It would eventually circle around to where you could head back to your dorm, so it was a good choice. </p><p>You decided you’d appreciated nature enough, so you struck up a conversation about things going on that academic week, and chatted with Damien the rest of the time on your meandering walk. </p><p>A half hour or so after you’d left, you came back to your doorstep. </p><p>“That was really nice. We should do that more often,” Damien said.</p><p>“Agreed.” </p><p>You procrastinated a bit more even in the house but eventually went back to homework, polishing it off relatively quickly then working on other assignments in each others’ company. </p><p>As evening approached, Mark descended the stairs with a wicked case of bedhead that neither you nor Damien commented on. “How are you feeling?” you asked. </p><p>“Not great, but not actively nauseous anymore,” Mark reported, laying down what appeared to be an actually academic reading beside the couch. “I figured I should try and get some work done. But I’m going to go get some crackers to eat, first.” </p><p>When he came back with his hopefully-safe snacks, he curled up on one side of the couch and started his reading.</p><p>The three of you passed another evening quietly, and when you went to sleep, it was all in your own beds and without distress.</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning, Mark and Damien seemed to be feeling normal again, and neither were running a temperature. You <i>cautiously</i> began to believe you were off the hook, and hadn’t caught whatever they’d had despite your proximity. Mark and Damien were both glad it didn’t outlast the weekend, and went to class as normal on Monday.</p>
<hr/><p>By Monday afternoon, thoughts of the weekend’s events had been quickly replaced by more pressing weekday affairs. </p><p>But, walking down campus, you heard Mark’s voice, a bit distantly. “Y/N!” </p><p>You turned towards the source. He was walking towards you with a bouquet of flowers. You made a curious sort of questioning sound. </p><p>“These are for you,” he told you when he’d closed the distance a second later. </p><p>You broke into a smile, looking at him a bit incredulously. The bouquet was quite large, and very beautiful, and you took it as he held it out to you. “Oh my, Mark, thank you; they’re beautiful…” You sniffed them, and you didn’t know a lot about flowers, but you recognized the blooms — pink and yellow Peruvian lilies peeked out between white hydrangea blooms, dotted with a few yellow and white petunias. It really was beautiful. </p><p>“For everything you did for me over the weekend,” he explained.</p><p>“You didn’t have to do this…!” you insisted, although you were delighted by the gesture. </p><p>“But I wanted to,” he said. </p><p>“I’ll head back to the apartment and get them in some water. Truly, this is lovely, Mark.” </p><p>He gave you a pleased smile. “I’ll let you get going, then. I’ll see you tonight, Y/N!” </p><p>You waved as he continued on, and you turned towards the apartment with a little extra spring in your step.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“I’m not gonna put the flower meanings in the author’s note, I’m gonna leave it all subtle like for people who think to check,” I said to myself, before I spent entirely too much effort researching flower meanings to let anyone misunderstand me. So, here’s my intent: </p><p>Hydrangea (white, pink) expresses gratitude, particularly for being understood.<br/>Petunias (yellow) say that you find someone’s company soothing.<br/>Alstroemerias/Peruvian lilies (pinks and yellows) symbolize friendship. </p><p>The colors are mostly just to make them look nice together, but yellow is in general associated with friendship when it comes to flower meanings. (…would it look good IRL? uncertain. I’m imagining it looking nice.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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